For her
he was always the man
on the other side of the table.

He was fond of it that way
so he could see her face
read the shades and lights
crack jokes through the grim times
when on the table was little
brimmed plenty in their hearts
and her tears when flowed
were not of unfulfilled needs
but a happiness she couldn’t grasp.

She doesn’t know
what she misses is love
or a mere habit.

She only knows
food doesn’t taste the same
without the man
on the other side of the table.

Deep in the creek
where speckled light kisses the saline shore
and mud hole bubbles leave crab trails
I knock upon her door.

She opens with a whisper on her skin
licks my **** with her southern tongue
winds rise the dusts within
the mangrove falls quiet to her moaning song.

I once found the moon in a forest
of fir two hundred foot tall,
it's face being lovingly polished
by fish in a silver pool,

the water was deep like a riddle,
as dark underneath as the pine,
I swam like a thief to the middle
but that slippery silver
                        refused to be mine.

I conjure you, out of yellowed newspapers and matches.
I come to recognise the scent of you, through which you untie the core of me. I swallow you down as the hoards devour religions. People banging on the doors of churches. Swallowed up by scripture. I wanted to see God, caught between your teeth. To cut out your Adam's apple and place it
between my lips. Consuming your masculinity with a single, careless kiss. Anatomy's foundations rocking like an antique chair. Stripped wood that still sings of trees, chopped down in their prime.
This destruction of youth that should sicken me, thrills me to my trembling bones. Each blade of gentle green grass,  grows in the sunlight and I pick
each daisy as carefully as I pick from the throng of young men that hound me. Voices ringing, reaching, touching
silk sheets, glistening with sweat. I lick the knife, metal caressing metal, blood on steal.

I am ready to receive him.